


red eyes

by talionprinciple (Triskai)



Category: Sekiro: Shadows Die Twice
Genre: Frottage, M/M, my top wolf agenda, plot and lore spoilers etc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-04-19
Packaged: 2020-01-16 05:12:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18514591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Triskai/pseuds/talionprinciple
Summary: After checking on Kuro, Wolf goes to tie up some loose ends. It takes longer than he expected.Set directly after the encounter with Genichiro in Ashina Castle.





	red eyes

**Author's Note:**

> courtesy warning: detailed description of scars and wounds, although nothing as gnarly as what's in the actual game.

With Kuro’s safety secured, there’s only one loose thread left to tie up. The question is where he might have gone.

Wolf thinks like a grounded hawk and goes to where it’s low and dark. It’s the red eyes that give him away in the end, shining out of a half-shuttered window – those and the bloody footprints outside the shed. There’s no way to enter discreetly, so he comes in through the door. Genichiro is fast with his bow; Wolf only manages to block the arrow because he expected it. 

“Shinobi of the Divine Heir.” Genichiro pulls the string back again, eyes gleaming red. “Come to finish me off? I’m afraid it won’t be that easy.”

Genichiro must have been sitting before Wolf arrived because he’s half-kneeling now, the arms of his bow nearly scraping the floor. The ground beneath him is covered in straw and blood and his entire body speaks of pain. He leans one shoulder heavily against the wall like he’s unable to support his own weight. His form with the bow is sloppy, he’s not drawing the string all the way back – as Wolf’s eyes adjust he can see it’s to avoid stretching the scabs forming on his abdomen – and although it doesn’t matter at this range, a half-draw with a bow of that size could put an arrow through a man’s neck, Wolf senses weakness. 

In an instant, it’s clear that Genichiro is in no shape to put up a fight, and he doesn’t seem cunning enough to feign his vulnerability. Wolf takes a gamble and steps inside, sword raised defensively.

“Put your bow down. Unless you want to fight me in the state you’re in.”

For a moment it seems like Genichiro will shoot. Then, slowly, he lowers his weapon, letting the tension out of the string.

“We can’t kill each other anyway.” Genichiro slumps back onto the floor, sprawled haphazardly in the manner of doomed men who don’t care if they live or die. One hand curls over his bare abdomen, covering the wound Wolf had inflicted not long ago. “If you aren’t here to fight me, what do you want?”

“Answers.” Wolf sheathes his sword and closes the door. The shed is dim and poorly ventilated, obviously not for human habitation, and the light that filters in through the single window is barely enough to see by. “Your eyes. What’s wrong with them?”

“It’s said that red eyes are a sign of someone consumed by rage.” Genichiro bares his teeth in an ugly smile, enjoying some private joke. “Or unable to consummate their desires.”

“Which one is it for you?”

“Neither. I am cursed. From the moment I drank the Rejuvenating Sediment, I sealed my fate. Over time, I will become less and less human…” Genichiro looks away. “Is that all you wanted to hear?”

So this is the price of Genichiro’s flawed immortality. It’s all the information he needs, but Wolf feels a strange reluctance to leave it at that. Perhaps it’s pity, or a sort of morbid fascination. The same drive that compels men to look upon suffering. He crouches in front of Genichiro, studying his mottled skin, the places where it’s blackened and splitting open like bruised fruit. It doesn’t escape his notice how Genichiro tenses under his gaze.

“Those burns…”

Genichiro scoffs. “Surely your shinobi training did not leave you unmarked.”

Wolf is silent. The answer to that is apparent, and not worth voicing.

“Who gave you that scar on your face?”

The memory rises up unbidden, making Wolf frown. Nobody has asked him questions like that in a long time, mainly because he doesn’t let them. This conversation has gone on long enough. They’re not allies, and whatever whim possessed him is fading fast.

“I’m done asking questions.” Wolf stands.

“Wait.” Genichiro catches the hem of his coat. “Shinobi. Tell me your name.”

Wolf tamps down the urge to kick him. “No.”

Genichiro wears his emotions plainly on his face, something Wolf hasn’t done since he was a child. Right now his mouth is twisted in an irritated frown. “What are you called?”

“By you? …Shinobi of the Divine Heir.”

“Infuriating man.” Genichiro staggers to his feet.

Wolf watches him approach. Genichiro can barely stay upright, swaying slightly with each step. It doesn’t occur to him to be afraid. This desperate, bloodied man is not the same distant lord he’d sworn vengeance on; this Genichiro is utterly human, disarmed, with a heart like a festering wound. He crowds into Wolf’s space and Wolf lets him, bemused.

“You,” Genichiro breathes, “are everything I despise. A selfish, vicious man. You would condemn all of Ashina for the sake of your lord. And yet…”

He’s close enough that Wolf can feel the heat of his body. Slowly, one blackened hand comes up and grips Wolf’s jaw. He allows it without really knowing why. A flame lights in his chest, unfurling like a sickness.

“…I cannot bring myself to hate you.”

Genichiro leans over him, red eyes bright and intent. He’s always been a handsome man, and is even more so like this, his gaze sharp with the focus and fury of a hunter. Despite himself, Wolf is fascinated.

_When you look into her eyes, you feel as if you’re being drawn into the depths of the ocean._

Yes. Wolf can feel the undertow now, promising to sweep him off his feet.

“Tell me your name,” Genichiro says.

Wolf kisses him.

Genichiro’s grip on his jaw tightens, and then he’s pressing back, using his larger bulk to pin Wolf against the wall. Amusement curls in his chest. Even half-dead, even in this, Genichiro clings to control. Wolf plants his prosthetic hand on his chest and shoves him back, hard. 

Genichiro stumbles and falls, catching himself on his elbows. “What—”

“Quiet.” Wolf settles on top of him, straddling Genichiro’s waist. Genichiro inhales sharply. His hands fly up to grab Wolf’s hips, holding him there as if he might get up and leave at any moment. “Is this what you wanted? When you spoke about desire…”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Genichiro grits out, but his fingers betray him, clutching blindly at Wolf’s clothing. He manages to slide one hand into Wolf’s shirt. The burns on his hands are hardened and peeling – they scratch roughly across Wolf’s ribs, over an exposed nipple. The sensation sends sparks of heat skittering down his spine.

Wolf responds in turn, sliding his flesh hand down the contours of Genichiro’s chest, and then lower, skirting around the wound on his abdomen. The heat of the healing flesh is engrossing. Although it’s already begun to scab, the blood on the edges hasn’t fully dried and the skin around the scab is red and taut. Wolf traces the shape of it with his thumb. The knowledge that he caused this is strangely erotic. Maybe it’s the thought of the scar it’ll leave behind. A mark that will never fade.

There’s another scar, low on his belly, where it looks like someone tried to disembowel him. It cuts a bright pink line through a swathe of burnt skin. Wolf runs his flesh hand over it, eyes half-lidded. The burn is hard and rough like a callus, and where it dips down into the scar it forms a sharp corner that digs into the pad of his finger. A nail catches on the seam and he runs his finger along the inside. The flesh in the split is thick and fever-warm, and gives slightly under his prodding. On a whim he lowers his head and runs his tongue where his finger just was, tracing out the hard edges of the scar. There’s a faint coppery taste. It’s not unpleasant. Genichiro makes a soft sound, like a man that’s been stabbed.

“Hurts?”

“No,” Genichiro says, strained. “Stop that.”

Wolf stops. Genichiro is looking at him with an expression he can’t place, something between disgust and desperation. He isn’t sure what to make of it, so he says nothing. He moves further down, tugging at the hem of Genichiro’s pants (he thinks he hears a “finally!”) and exposing him fully. Surprisingly, he’s already hard. Wolf takes Genichiro’s length in his hand, pressing his thumb against the tip – and then pauses for a moment to appreciate the way Genichiro twitches, trying to fuck up into his hand. Responsive.

“You are a tease,” Genichiro says unsteadily, fumbling at Wolf’s belt. “An unkind, sadistic man.”

“Hmm.”

Wolf begins to stroke him languidly. The hands on his belt stop for a moment and then continue with renewed fervor, pulling the knot open roughly and tugging Wolf’s pants down.

“Here.” Genichiro takes them both in hand, presses them together. “Like this.”

It’s not perfect. The drag is a little rough, they don’t have oil. But it stops mattering when Genichiro arches up into him and Wolf lets himself get lost in the feeling of it, the heat of the body beneath him, the low breathy sounds Genichiro makes when Wolf thrusts against him. He can’t reach Genichiro’s neck and so settles for putting his mouth to the man’s chest, tracing a long white scar with the flat of his tongue. Somehow that’s what tips Genichiro over the edge, spilling between their bodies with a quiet curse. Wolf follows not long after, collapsing on top of the larger man.

For a while, they find some measure of peace. Wolf becomes aware of Genichiro’s heartbeat beneath his head. Genichiro presses his face into Wolf’s hair. It’s an inexcusably tender gesture, out of place between them. But then, so is this whole encounter. Wolf can’t find it in himself to protest.

“You smell of flowers,” Genichiro says at length, voice muffled.

Genichiro smells of blood and burnt flesh. Wolf presses his nose to the man’s sternum and breathes it in.

“Would you truly not serve a different lord?” Genichiro asks softly. He sounds resigned, almost wistful.

Wolf disentangles himself without a word, and doesn’t look at Genichiro’s face as he stands.

Genichiro lets him go.


End file.
